Bay of Sighs
Page 42

“A couple of them doesn’t arm all of us,” Doyle pointed out.
“It’s going to take some wrangling to get two, and two’s enough. You’re a decent shot, but you’re better with the bow or the sword. Bran? Pretty decent shot, but why waste the time when he’s the lightning man? Sasha’s getting better with a gun, but she’s not there. With the crossbow? She’s Robin Hood and all his Merry Men. And Annika’s not going to use a gun, in the water or out. So two. One for me, one for Sawyer. We’re the better shots. And, in fact, if I can only score one, it goes to Sawyer. Dead-Eye’s the best of us.”
“All right then.”
“One or two, I’m going to need to wire money.”
“Let us know how much,” Bran said, “and we’ll put it together. It’s good to have, and if we can access this sort of weapon, we have to consider they’ll be armed this way as well. Distractions,” he murmured. “Something an enemy would be more inclined to shoot than us. I’ll work on it. And it’s good strategy, Riley. The two teams of three.”
“They’ll have more.” Pale, Sasha stepped up to the table, set a canvas down.
On it she’d painted an underwater battle. The six of them, armed with knife, spear, pistol, surrounded by armed men. Twenty by Sawyer’s count.
Blood spread in the water. And sharks came to feed.
Annika walked over, laid her hands on Sawyer’s shoulders. “The blood draws them, and they’ll take all. The word you use is frenzy. It’s truth.”
Riley blew out a breath. “Does anybody else hear the theme from Jaws?”
She poured another drink.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sawyer studied the painting. “This is on my top five list. Of ways not to die.”
“Hey, me, too.” After a long, slow sip, Riley managed a smile. “What’s your number one?”
“Snake pit. You?”
“Drawn and quartered.”
“That’s a good one.”
“What is drawn and quartered?” Annika asked.
Reaching up, Sawyer rubbed her hand. “You don’t ever want to find out.” He looked over at Sasha. “You saw this?”
“Yes. Very clearly.”
“Us, surrounded by the bad guys, the sharks circling.”
“Yes!” Sasha snapped off the word as she shook her head at Riley’s offer of a drink.
“Looks dire,” he commented. “It also looks like we’ve got a wall between us and Bruce and pals.”
“Bruce?” Shaken, Sasha pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Who the hell is Bruce?”
“Crew’s name for the mechanical shark in Jaws,” Riley explained. “Hmm.”
“Exactly so. Now sit.” Firmly, Bran nudged Sasha into a chair. “We couldn’t ask for a bigger distraction.”
Now Sasha just closed her eyes. “A shark attack is a distraction? A distraction.”
“Damn good one. Odds are they’d go for the prey in the outer circle first.” As he might a battle plan, Doyle stood, studied the painting. “It’s something I’ve missed in my extended life—a shark attack. And you, Gorgeous?”
“We can hear—feel?—them, and we stay away. But we can also make a sound they don’t like, and warn others if they come to feed.”
“What sound?” Riley wondered.
Annika drew a breath, opened her mouth.
Though he heard nothing, Sawyer felt as if an ice pick had been jammed in his ear, and straight to his brain. In the distance, dogs began to bark.
“Wow. Okay.” Riley rubbed her ears.
“If they still come, you fight. Hit them here.” Annika tapped her nose. “Hard.”
“‘Sometimes the shark go away; sometimes he wouldn’t go away.’”
“Quint,” Riley explained. “Sawyer’s still on Jaws.”
“The seas are filled with easier prey. Here, in the painting, the bad guys are easier prey than we are.”
“Annika’s right.” Riley nodded. “Plus, thanks to Sasha we’re forewarned. How do we use it?”
“They’re looking to capture, not kill,” Doyle pointed out. “There’s blood, some of us, some of them are wounded. But we’re outnumbered more than three to one here, and we’re all alive. If they wanted us dead, at least one of us would be. Or more seriously wounded than this.”
“And we’re in a group,” Bran added. “A fairly tight one. Tight enough?” he asked Sawyer.
“Yeah, tight enough. The trick’s going to be getting to this point, letting them surround us, and holding it together.”
“We let them . . .” Calmer now, Sasha took the drink she’d refused. “Yes, I see.”
“Our instinct’s going to be to fight, not surrender. But, we let this happen?” Riley tapped the painting. “Their instinct’s going to be to take out the sharks, or try, or get the hell away.”
“We stay close enough to each other, I shift us back to the boat, and—”
“The sharks take the rest.” Riley lifted her glass toward him. “To Quint.”
“Not the rest,” Doyle corrected. “Odds are on a dive boat, and if I planned an attack like this, I’d have men stationed on the boat, and a couple, at least, on ours.”
“Buzzkill. Right,” Riley added. “But still. Those teams won’t be expecting us to pop out of nowhere. So, you or I get to the wheel, and fast. The others deal with the bad guys, if any, on our boat.”